


layer on layer, down on down

by couldaughter



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Handwaving, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Hey, Iz,” said Michael. He felt tired, more than anything. “It’s all gonna happen again. Don’t worry about it.”
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 219





	layer on layer, down on down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myrmidryad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/gifts).



> Someone save my brain from me. Put it in a jar and let it REST
> 
> Author's Note: I put 'Chose Not To Use Warnings' because I find time loop fic difficult to classify when it comes to Character Death. So, disclaimer: multiple characters die in this fic, multiple times, but only one is permanent and it is reflected in canon. Uh. Spoilers for RNM season 1 I guess, if you're reading this without watching it.
> 
> No betas we die like men

**zero**

The walk up to Max’s house didn’t really register to Michael. His hands were still shaking with a heady mix of adrenaline and recent trauma, his vision starting to blur.

So when he found Max about to murder Noah, and Max pointed his gun at Michael’s head, Michael didn’t have a lot of context for what was going on.

Or, as it turned out, for how it felt to bleed out with half a syringe embedded in your jugular vein.

He could’ve done without that.

**one**

Back when Michael first bought the Airstream, he’d replaced the shitty, bed bug infested mattress with an only slightly less shitty one, ex-display, and that was what he’d slept on for the past five years.

He’d had a few nights off, to be fair. One night stands or Isobel’s guest room, or the bunk in the county lock-up. But it meant that he was very familiar with the particular way the springs dug into his lower back, a kind of dull pain that only intensified as he rolled onto his side.

“What,” he said, clear and too-loud in the early morning light. “The fuck.” He put one hand to his neck.

He was used to nightmares. This was something else.

His neck was intact, at least. He blinked a few times. His lips felt numb.

This was a little more familiar. The feeling of unreality after a dream that vivid, when he needed someone to remind him what was real and what definitely wasn’t.

For a long time he’d had Isobel, always available on the other end of the phone, but now — well, she had bigger problems than her brother having a bad dream.

Before he could think it through, he’d scrolled back up to the top of his contacts and pressed the call button.

Alex picked up on the third ring.

“Guerin?” He sounded sleep-heavy, slower than usual. Michael’s chest felt tight. He remembered, vividly, screaming that he didn’t love him — knowing that he was lying through his goddamn teeth. His dreams were usually a little less direct, but perhaps his subconscious was trying something new. Alex knew him better than that, of course. Sometimes Michael was pretty sure that Alex knew him better than anyone.

He pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Hey, Alex. Listen, can I ask you something? And don’t laugh.”

“Depends on the question,” Alex said, dryly. “I’m still gay, and the sky is still blue so far as I can tell.”

Michael huffed. “What day is it?”

Alex made a noise somewhere between sympathy and sadness. “It’s Tuesday, Guerin. Tell me something you can see?”

“Ugly-ass curtains,” said Michael, by rote. “This ain’t that kind of call, don’t worry. Just wanted to… make sure. Sometimes things get pretty vivid.”

“Right,” said Alex. He sounded unconvinced. Michael didn’t blame him. “Glad you’re okay. See you later.”

He hung up. Michael put his phone on the counter and tried not to scream.

* * *

It was like this, Michael thought, a couple hours later.

You spent your whole life leading up to a certain moment. And for Michael, that moment was standing in front of his mom, looking at her through the splintered glass, unable to save her.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Michael turned, feeling sick with déja vu, and looked at Alex.

Alex looked back. He looked sad, which Michael thought was fair.

He didn’t really hear what Alex said — his lips moved, and sound came out, but all he could think about was how fucked the entire situation was.

His cue came up. He could’ve shouted, could’ve screamed, and he just stood there. Alex grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Michael shook his head.

Mom reached out. Michael could see her hand and he could feel her mind brushing up against his. She showed him something unfamiliar, though. A memory of a distant sky, a picnic beneath the stars. The war was coming closer, but the fireworks were pretty for now.

He closed his eyes. Alex was still shouting, he thought. His hand slipped away from the protective glass.

The floor was cold underneath his hands. Or maybe, he thought, his hands were cold. He leaned back against mom’s cell, resigned.

“I’m not getting out of here alive,” he said, over whatever Alex was yelling about. “You need to go. You have to go. Kyle would kill me.”

“Kyle won’t have the chance if you die in this fucking hellhole,” said Alex. “Get a goddamn grip.” He was crying, Michael realised, without making anything of it. He didn’t think he was, though. His face felt dry.

Alex tugged at his arm again. Michael kept himself on the floor. It was the first thing he taught himself to do after he gained enough control to do more than poltergeist all the shit in his foster home.

“I’m not leaving you,” said Alex.

Michael couldn’t make himself say it again. He couldn’t say anything, as it turned out. He still felt cold, but he could feel his fingers.

Alex sat down beside him, resting his head against the glass. Michael shifted his fingers until he could feel Alex’s stupid jacket against his pinkie. Mom was lying on her bunk this time, prepared.

He felt the explosion before he heard it. His vision went black before the pain hit.

* * *

The roof of the trailer blurred as he opened his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, voice rough. He curled up and cried, recklessly, until Alex came knocking.

**eight**

It took a half dozen more tries before Michael accepted that this was really happening and wasn’t just a recurring nightmare, or a fucking mindgame Noah was playing.

He’d had a nap after he got back from the cave that first morning. He never repeated that part, when he’d told Max and Iz they’d talk in the morning. He didn’t know if they ever would.

So now he was just… trapped. Wake up in the trailer, wait for Alex, go to Caulfield, die. Whether he died at Caulfield or not didn’t make any difference. He didn’t stay dead.

The possibility that he was just crazy had crossed his mind, but practically there wasn’t much point considering that. Either he was crazy and he was trapped forever, or he wasn’t and there was a slim chance he could figure out what the fuck was going on and _fix it_.

Alex kept turning up, and he kept telling him about Caulfield like it was all brand new information. Michael kept coming along and watching his childhood dream burn to ash, whether from a distance or first hand. Every time he stayed, Alex did too. He’d tried everything to get him away, and nothing worked. Fucking idiot.

Besides a whole tank full of nightmare fuel, he hadn’t gained much from the past few days. Or, well, the past day a few times. Mostly he was tired as hell and about ready to wrap Alex Manes in fucking bubble wrap and lock him in a closet until the last stroke of midnight.

He wouldn’t go quite that crazy yet, but —

“Iz,” he said. “I need a favour.”

He’d come up to the house as early as he possibly could, breaking a couple traffic laws in his truck and slamming the brake hard enough that it might do permanent damage.

Luckily, he wouldn’t have to worry about it until morning.

Isobel answered the door looking about as put together as she ever did, draped in jewellery and wearing what someone with a fashion degree might call cowgirl chic. The boots were about as far as Michael would go, personally.

She raised her eyebrows. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a little busy around here.”

Michael looked around, and stopped. “What the _fuck_ is he doing here?”

Liz and Max were in the kitchen fixing breakfast. Noah was tied up on the couch. Michael flipped him off and turned back to Isobel.

“I need to know why,” said Isobel. She crossed her arms, nails digging into the soft skin of her forearms.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He glanced at Noah again. He was out cold, it looked like, and if Liz was here… he figured they could keep him out.

He steeled himself. “Look, I need you to whammy Alex.”

“ _What_?” She looked horrified, for whatever reason.

“There’s some shit he’s uncovered and he — he’s got a really bad plan,” said Michael. “And if he does it, a bunch of people are gonna die. Not his fault, but —”

He was glad Isobel couldn’t pick up on his thoughts without really trying. His last attempt had worked out pretty fucking badly for everyone involved. He shook his head a little, trying to clear it.

“It’s just not a good plan. Get him to leave off for a day, maybe two, and I can get it straightened out.”

Isobel narrowed her eyes. “I’ll talk to him. No promises.”

So Michael left the house and just… waited around for a couple hours, re-doing chores around the Airstream and contemplating, as he often did, whether he could swing something with a little more legroom if he took the full-time mechanic job Sanders kept hinting at.

It was a pipe dream, but it passed the time.

Isobel texted him at eleven that she’d worked it out. She followed up with a to-the-point **You owe me** a few minutes later, then the margarita emoji.

Thank fuck.

* * *

Michael pulled up to Caulfield in his truck, alone, just as the sun started to set. It dipped low at the horizon, the sky like a stained glass window. Michael took a second to appreciate it before he broke the lock on the front door with his mind.

No Alex meant no Valenti, no distractions. No one to get in the way of a rescue, but no one to help if things went south.

He’d take the risk, anyway. If Alex remembered the last loop, he’d _want_ the goddamn break.

It was dark when he stepped inside; the corridors seemed wider and colder on his own. He remembered the way to the cellblock, at least.

He stuck to the shadows on the way, heart hammering in his chest, and found himself in the open gallery between cells just as the clock chimed the hour. A buzzer sounded over the intercom, and the sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere distant.

Michael went to his mom’s cell. The gallery was taller than he’d remembered, and he took a second to get the lay of the land. He didn’t have the map anymore, but he figured he had at least a couple minutes before whatever was going to happen now happened.

He put his hand up on the glass. Mom was lying on the bunk, curled in the fetal position, unmoving. Her head shifted a little, turning towards him. No alarms sounded.

Her eyes widened. She mouthed something he couldn’t make out, lips tilted up at the corners.

“Mom,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”

She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. Michael kept his eyes on her. She looked tired, the way she did every time, but now there was simply a hint of confusion instead of open panic.

Her palm lined up with his. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, veins fully visible at her wrist.

The footsteps were getting closer. Michael glanced over his shoulder for just a second before he remembered it didn’t matter.

It was a strange feeling, sharing minds with someone. He’d done it with Isobel a couple times, mostly when they were all feeling out their power sets, trying to figure out exactly what was possible.

Isobel had the least limits of any of them.

Mom’s mindscape was unfamiliar, of course, shaded by the kind of alien architecture you might find in Dune concept art or the patent applications for a neo-imperialist space colony. Strange spires towered above them in shifting hues of gold and dusky pink. The sand below them was a little more recognisable. Living in New Mexico, it was hard to avoid.

Mom didn’t say anything, but Michael guessed she didn’t have to. She was young again, hair straight and fine, face smooth. Her eyes were the same, though. Sad and heavy.

She was sorry, Michael could tell. It drifted between them like fog.

He pushed through it, but the barrier between them remained. He could still feel the glass cold beneath his fingers. She smiled faintly.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Only the hand was visible, for a moment, before it dragged Michael backwards and out of his mom’s head.

Flint Manes squinted down at him, his free hand on his walkie-talkie. “Michael Guerin? What the fuck are you doing here?”

The last time Flint had caught him at Caulfield, he’d been with Alex, and Flint had shot him in the chest. Alex had stayed with him until the lights went out.

He didn’t really want a repeat.

“Seeing family,” said Michael, before he could think better of it, and just before throwing a metal table directly at the back of Flint’s knees. With his mind.

An array of surgical instruments clattered to the floor. It was kind of a last hurrah.

Flint crumpled dramatically, falling face first onto the concrete floor, just in time for a few of his friends to show up.

One checked on Flint, asking, “Staff Sergeant?” in a tone just bordering on concerned, while the other set his eyes on Michael. Based on the eyes alone, it was pretty clear what kind of trouble he was about to be in.

He picked up the table again. It had worked once, after all, but they were wise to it after seeing their superior get whacked with it.

It took a couple swings before Michael got one of them in the side of the head.

That guy didn’t even crumple. He just dropped.

Michael tried not to think about it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” said the other guy. He crouched by the casualty and put one hand to his neck, eyes half closed. Alex would probably have something to say about the guy’s situational awareness.

Michael just focused on getting the hell out of the way. His boots came down hard on the floor as he ran past the row of cells, the sound reverberating across the room. He could see a bright green EXIT sign above the way to the stairwell, and he figured if worst came to worst he could just jump out the window and hope he’d figure out flying before he hit the ground.

It would’ve been a great plan if not for a pretty significant oversight. The other guy, as it turned out, had a gun and he knew how to use it.

A warning shot hit Michael in the leg, just above his boot, and he only managed another few steps before the pain hit too. His knee buckled and he hit the concrete hard, tried to catch himself with his hands and felt a wave of more familiar pain come from his mangled fingers.

This was not good. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the other guy was advancing, finger off the trigger, gun pointed at the back of Michael’s skull.

He turned back and focused on breathing. The sound of even more footsteps came from the stairwell in front of him, and the door banged open to admit three more guards before he could even try to move.

One of the new guys clocked Michael across the face with his sidearm. He heard something crunch, and tried to ignore the little voice telling him just how fucked he was. His vision blurred.

The voice also, unhelpfully, reminded him that Alex could’ve been here.

He came back to himself when Jesse Manes’ voice came out of Flint’s radio. The sound still made him shudder. He’d spent a lot of the past ten years avoiding the man. It seemed unfair to have him show up now.

He wondered idly whether Alex had broken the fucker’s jaw when he got him with his crutch. Alex had mentioned this to Michael in a text, completely without fanfare, as if it wasn’t worth noting. Alex was that kind of guy.

“You got a new specimen?” Jesse was saying, a distracting static fuzz buzzing underneath the words. Michael wasn’t sure if it was just the radio or if the head trauma was getting to him.

“Yeah,” said Flint. Michael hadn’t noticed him getting back up, but then, he didn’t know how long his leg had been bleeding. How long the new guy had been pointing the barrel of a gun at his forehead. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

Jesse chuckled. Michael shuddered again, gritting his teeth against the pain as his leg shifted in place.

“I think I got an idea. Get him strapped in bay two.” Something like a sigh came over the radio. “We can get a real good look then.”

Two of the guards grabbed Michael by the shoulders, one on each side. He threw them off with a burst of psychic energy, heard the thud as they hit the wall and slid to the ground. It was hard to push himself to his feet, his injured leg dragging badly on the way up, but he managed it. He reached for his powers, felt the edges of it, but couldn’t grasp it like he usually could. His stomach churned.

Flint was smiling, for some reason, the radio still in his hand.

“What?” Michael said. Acid burned the back of his throat. “You waiting for something?”

“Yeah,” said Flint. He glanced up at the ceiling. A light started flashing, and a yellow cloud started to spread.

Michael froze.

Flint smiled wider, and put the radio back on his belt. “Everyone’s gotta breathe sometime.”

* * *

He woke up on a slab.

There were needles in his wrists, and electrodes taped to his chest, and he was buck fucking naked. It was not an ideal way to regain consciousness.

The worst thing, though, was that Jesse Manes was there.

It really was inexplicable to him how a monster like that had produced a son like Alex. Fourth time lucky, Michael guessed, at least for society, but he could imagine any number of universes where every single Manes man was just as bad as the last.

Thinking about that let him avoid thinking about the immediate future. He closed his eyes again and tried to tune out of the villain speech Jesse was delivering over his body.

His leg wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it wasn’t bandaged either. He could feel the air on the open wound. His head ached, and his hands, and his wrists where the needles pressed in.

Jesse waved a hand in front of his eyes. Michael turned his head as far as he could against the restraints. They’d put him in some kind of foam cutout that acted like a neck brace. There was a camera overhead. His legs were taped together as well as shackled down.

He reached for his powers, hopeless, and found nothing. They had him on oxygen, tube down his throat, and he suspected that the pollen was mixed in with the tank.

Jesse snapped his fingers. “Eyes front,” he said, deceptively calm. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

Michael did not like that tone at all.

He turned back, until he was lying completely flat on the table. Jesse was holding an old Nokia, the kind of phone Michael always imagined when someone mentioned a burner. There was no name on the screen, but he recognised the number.

 _Alex_. He tried to say it, too, wanted to warn him, but all he managed was a pained croak.

Jesse said something else, into the phone, smiled at whatever Alex said back. It sounded angry, Michael thought, but he couldn’t make it out.

“My boy’s coming for you,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Can’t have that, I’m afraid.”

He turned to a guard, who saluted.

“I’m ordering an evacuation. We’re bugging out, boys, and we’ve got some insects that need clearing.”

That was when Jesse turned around and stabbed Michael in the eye.

Other stuff happened after that. And then Michael woke up in the Airstream, and threw up in the sink until all that came up was bile.

**nine**

Michael didn’t think about it.

It wasn’t a lie that would hold up in court, but it kept him going through the conversation with Alex. At least until Alex asked him directly, a short, “You in, Guerin?” and Michael —

Michael couldn’t say it.

Alex frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Michael said breezily. “I just, uh, I don’t think I can come. I’ve got, y’know, stuff. Things. To do.”

That just got him another frown, but Alex wasn’t going to push. “Okay. I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Thanks,” said Michael. “Tell Valenti I said hi.”

Valenti had died the time before last. He’d taken a bullet for one of the aliens, after they triggered the cell door release and the reserve guard came pouring in. Alex kept up pressure on the wound while Michael kept the fire doors open. Then one of the guards took a shot at Michael and, somehow, Valenti got in the way. It hadn’t take long after that.

It had not been good. Michael didn’t hate him any less, but — no one deserved to die like that. Martyrdom might be attractive to Catholics, but it just made Michael depressed.

“I will,” said Alex. He was _still_ frowning, honestly, the guy’s face was gonna get tired.

Belatedly, Michael remembered he wasn’t meant to know Kyle was coming yet. That it was a kind of fun surprise Alex sprang on him every time, because he knew Michael wouldn’t agree to a third wheel on their tandem bike.

It was kind of a funny mental image.

Michael waved it off. “Who else would you bring?” _Who else would volunteer?_

Alex shook his head and conceded the point. Michael watched them drive off and tried not to feel like he’d just condemned them to death.

He couldn’t go back to Caulfield. Not until he stopped feeling a scalpel twist in his eye socket.

Running a hand through his hair, he considered his options. There were a dozen things he could do now he wasn’t going to die in a fire. He could see Maria. He could get blackout drunk. He could go bug Liz about Max’s crush on her.

He could go and find out what the fuck Noah’s deal was.

Before he could decide if that was actually a good idea, he was over halfway across town towards Isobel’s house.

He pulled up outside and breathed through the sense of deja vu from the day before. Today wasn’t going to turn out that way. It _wasn’t_.

It helped that it was already midday and not ass o’clock in the morning. This time, Liz answered the door.

“Oh, hey Mikey,” she said, subdued. “We’re actually a little busy right now. If you could come back later?”

“Yeah, not so much,” said Michael. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “I’ve got a lot going on, but this is important. I promise.”

Liz narrowed her eyes, searching his face for some confirmation. She must have found it, because after a few moments she stepped back and let him in the front door.

It never used to be so difficult getting into Isobel’s house. Back when they were kids, he’d snuck in over the backyard fence more than once. Mrs Evans thought it was a coyote or something that kept damaging the wood.

Max, Isobel and Noah were all in the front room, arrayed around the chair they’d tied Noah to, and all of them were also very clearly _not_ in the front room at all.

Michael glanced at Liz, who sighed. “They’ve been like this for a while. They told me to interrupt if someone starts bleeding from the eyes, but not before then.”

“Guess we got some time to chat, then,” said Michael. He fell back onto the couch and stretched into a more comfortable position. He patted the cushion next to him. “C’mon, Ortecho. We can watch paint dry just as well from over here.”

Liz sat down, swinging her legs onto Michael’s lap.

“Gettin’ comfy there, Liz?”

She grinned at him, still subdued. “Yeah, thanks. Doing great.”

Michael knocked his shoulder with hers. It wasn’t that he considered them friends, exactly, but Liz was kind and life had been shit to her, so he was kind of doomed to be at least a little fond.

“You wouldn’t believe what my day’s been like,” he offered, without really thinking about it. “What’s been goin’ on up here?”

“Noah’s been inside your sister’s head for thirteen years,” said Liz. “He killed my sister. He killed all those other girls.”

Michael nodded. He’d known that, but to hear it from someone else — it made him so _angry_. “If you wanna kill him I think you can skip the line. Get that first spot”

“Maybe joint first,” said Liz. “I’d give Iz the syringe.”

The sense memory of glass shards in his neck took Michael almost by surprise. He rubbed at the spot that had, once, been so utterly destroyed by that same syringe.

“Nah, she’ll be planning something already,” Michael said, when he felt like he could say it without choking. “You can tag team, either way.”

Liz gave him a weird look. “I’ll save the practical stuff for whenever the freaky mind meld part ends,” she said, eventually. “The serum is the most important thing. We need to neutralise him. His powers are — terrifying.” She shuddered.

Michael frowned. “You know that first hand?” Max hadn’t mentioned that, when he talked about what Noah had done after the gala.

Liz nodded, shakily. “Yeah. I couldn’t move. It was. It wasn’t good.”

Michael knew what that was like. “You alright now?”

“I think so,” said Liz. “Don’t take that for granted though. I reserve the right for a full on nervous breakdown once this is over.”

Michael laughed. _That makes two of us_ , he thought, a little hysterically.

He couldn’t remember the first time he’d died that well. It was probably a mix of blood loss and the lack of practice, but the memory of Noah’s face stayed clear. He hadn’t been sorry at all to kill another alien.

Michael wasn’t sure what it said about him that he was still hesitant about killing Noah himself, but — if it came to it, he didn’t think he could stop Max again. Even on a power trip, Max wasn’t evil. Max hadn’t killed thirteen girls.

Max hadn’t killed _Michael_.

Liz’s phone buzzed, making them both jump. Liz laughed nervously. Michael checked the screen.

“It’s Valenti,” he said, as Liz swiped to accept the call. “What’s he doing calling at this time of day, huh? Doesn’t he know we’re all very busy?”

Liz didn’t respond. She was listening to Valenti, eyes wide. Michael leaned in a little closer.

“— bad, Liz, it’s really bad. Let Michael know.”

“Let me know what?” Michael asked, chest tight.

Liz turned her head. “It’s Alex,” she said, and choked. “He’s, uh. He’s injured.”

Injured could mean a million things, but Michael knew what it was. He had to know.

He’d thought they’d be _safe_ , without him. Without all his stupid fuckups to distract them from the actual mission.

Clearly he’d been wrong. He heard Liz back on the phone, trying to coach Valenti through some first aid procedure he should’ve known back to front. It sounded like she was underwater or something, it was so muffled.

He put his head down on his knees and squeezed his bad hand into as much as a fist as it could make. The closer he got, the more it hurt and the more grounding it became.

“Mikey? _Michael_?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded once. “What?”

“Kyle’s got Alex stable. He’s taking him to Roswell General, says they’ve found something big.”

“I bet,” Michael mumbled. He turned his head, eyes still shut. “Would you believe me if I said it could be a lot worse?”

Liz was frowning. He couldn’t see her, but he could tell.

“I’ve done this a couple times,” he continued. “And this is the best so far.”

And then Isobel collapsed, and Max’s eyes started bleeding, and Noah got up.

Michael hated his big goddamn mouth.

**twelve**

Maria sighed. “Your tab still needs paying off, Guerin.”

“I’ll get it to you in the morning,” said Michael, meaning it. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

It was early afternoon, just after the Wild Pony opened for the day drinkers, and the bar was mostly empty. Racist Hank hadn’t darkened the door yet, and the one guy who spent most of the day at the slots had apparently taken the day off.

His liver would thank him for it.

Michael wanted to talk to Maria about a lot of things, to be fair. About sleeping together, about high school, about the fact that he was stuck in a _godforsaken time loop_ — it was a lot. But she didn’t know about aliens, yet, and he wasn’t going to let yet another person in on the secret without consulting his siblings.

The justification didn’t taste good, but neither did choking to death on your own blood. There were a lot of things Michael was learning about, being trapped.

“And what’s that?” Maria asked, leaning one elbow on the counter.

Michael steeled himself. “You ever see Groundhog Day?”

He actually hadn’t, but he’d read the Wikipedia article on his third time through. It sounded pretty good, but he didn’t have Netflix, and his DVD drive was busted.

“Once or twice,” said Maria. “Good movie. Kinda dated.” She wrinkled her nose. “You really came in here on a weekday to talk nineties nostalgia? Weak, Guerin.”

“I guess,” he said. “I’ve just been thinking about it. How does he figure it out, when he gets stuck? Like, he’s trying to get this perfect day, and no matter how hard he tries something goes wrong.”

Maria’s eyes softened. “Guerin, it’s alright to ask for help. You wanna talk?”

Michael thought about the night he’d found Maria crying. About sitting with her at the gala, waiting for a sign it was safe to leave. The way it felt to lie next to her under the stars. “I’ll let you know. You think anyone around here knows much about Airstream engines?”

“This is about an engine? Typical guy,” said Maria. She sounded fond. “Thanks, by the way. Don’t remember if I said on the night.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Michael. “Thanks for not throwing up on my suit or whatever.”

Maria threw a bar towel at him as he headed out.

He went to Caulfield with Alex, watched the countdown tick down, and got out before it blew. Alex hugged him behind the truck and Michael closed his eyes against the feeling of it.

His decision was made for him, really. Who could resist Alex Manes?

The next morning, he let Alex into the Airstream when he came knocking.

“I know what you’re here for,” said Michael. “And I wanna be clear, I know this through completely supernatural means, not spying. I’m real bad at spying.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, do you know?”

“Unusual heat signatures, abandoned prison, rhymes with Ball Wield? Yeah, I know about that. And I know Valenti’s waiting in the van.”

Alex stepped forward, crowding Michael against the counter. “You knew about this already?”

His voice was very calm.

“Yeah,” said Michael. “I died for this information.” He smiled. Telling the truth sucked. “And if you want details, you gotta wait ‘til I get a therapist. Processing’s gonna take a while.”

He’d decided to tell Alex about the loop basically as soon as Liz got the call. He trusted Alex, he knew Alex, and he knew Alex would have at least some new ideas. He was the military expert, after all, and Michael should’ve acknowledged that earlier.

The guilt had held him back, at first. Screaming you didn’t love someone was pretty hard to come back from. He could still taste the words in his mouth.

But the fact remained that Michael had hit a wall. He didn’t know enough about Caulfield to plan properly, and he couldn’t find out more without bringing in Alex. He couldn’t go into Caulfield solo, because he got captured or killed or both every time, and he couldn’t tell anyone else, because why the fuck would he tell anyone else?

Isobel had enough to deal with. Max might help, but being a cop didn’t get him special access to anything besides an outdated weapons locker and exclusive access to the portraits of a long line of alcoholic sheriffs.

Alex was the sensible choice. It didn’t mean Michael had to like it.

“Guerin,” said Alex. He sounded kind of weird, soothing but firm.

“Is this your conflict resolution voice?” Michael asked. “Because believe me, one word, I have already climbed off the ledge. I’m not crazy. I’m stuck in a fucking time loop and you are my only hope.”

Alex snorted. “Just call me Obi-Wan.” He sobered quickly, though. Michael missed the days when Alex let himself relax for longer than a few seconds at a time, outside of sex. Sex, he had no problem letting go.

“I’m serious,” he offered. “And I need more info on Caulfield. I’m going all in on recon, and you’re my best option.”

Michael watched Alex’s face clear as he spoke. “Right,” he said. “I have some architect’s plans, and a couple of memos talking around the whole facility. You can look at those in the van. That alright?”

“Yeah.” Alex was still crowding him against the counter, but he took a step back when he mentioned the van. Michael never realised how much he liked having Alex close until he was already gone.

He’d spent most of the past twelve days deliberately not thinking of Alex like a living, breathing human being that he was, coincidentally, in love with. It just made things a lot worse when he died, and he remembered it all at once.

So it was odd to return to the first day’s drive up to Caulfield, trading barbs with Valenti and, now, trying to decipher a fifty year old architectural plan for a prison he’d been inside one wing of.

It was slow going.

Valenti kept shooting him weird looks, probably because Alex had shoved the plans at him and called him Punxsutawney Phil over the seat back as soon as they got into the van.

He kept focused on the plans, though, committing them to memory as much as he could. He could already tell that parts of it were outdated, and that some of the cells were a lot larger on the plan than they were in real life.

The windows rattled a little when he thought about it.

It was easy to rein in his powers, though, and they made it the rest of the way without any actual Jean Grey shit going down.

Alex met him at the van door.

“You sure about this, Guerin?” He asked, face blank, eyes soft.

Michael shrugged, one shouldered. “Sure as I’ll ever be.” He paused. “You kind of took the whole Groundhog Day thing without any commentary at all. Got any comments on that?”

“I trust you, Michael,” said Alex. “You don’t have any reason to lie, and we’ve seen enough weird shit that a time loop is just… an extension of the weird, not a whole new paradigm.”

He had to take a step back at that. It almost hurt, hearing the words, even if he’d been able to guess.

“Well, if you change your mind,” said Michael, shooting for light. “Get me a nice room in the asylum. I like to wake up to the sunrise.”

“Duly noted,” said Alex. “Keep your head up in there, okay?”

It hung between them for a moment, until Valenti came through and nudged Michael with his elbow.

“Come on, kids,” he said. “We’ve got shit to do.”

* * *

The alarm didn’t sound, this time.

“Flint’s here,” said Michael, as they came up the stairs.

Alex turned, more deliberately than usual. “You didn’t think to mention that earlier?”

“I don’t like thinking about it,” said Michael, honestly. “Last time I saw him your dad stabbed me in the eye.”

“ _What_?” Alex was in front of Michael, suddenly, hands gripping his upper arms. “Dad’s _here_? He’s in the States?”

“Uh, I would assume so,” said Michael. “Is he meant to be somewhere else?”

“Fucking _Namibia_ ,” Alex hissed. “I knew I should’ve checked in. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Michael. He grabbed Alex’s hand with his good one, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t talk about my friend like that.”

“He won’t get to you this time,” Alex said, turning to look down the corridor. It was just another cellblock, empty as all the others. Well, except the one.

His voice echoed. Michael believed him.

Valenti kept pushing them forward; Michael hung on.

Knowing Flint was there, Alex managed to take him out and get into the system much faster, soon enough that he could delay the shift change and find an updated set of schematics for the prison.

Michael took a closer look while Valenti and Alex focused on restraining Flint. Valenti was pro-safety, Alex pro-security. There was apparently not an easy middle to find.

It was a good schematic. Detailed. It had the entire power grid link up mapped, with the alarm systems well labelled.

“Hey, Alex,” he said, casually. “Think you could hack the power here?”

Alex looked up. “I’m a codebreaker, not a hacker,” he said. “But I can try. Is there something we can turn on?”

“Turn off, maybe,” said Michael. He showed Alex the schematic. “Whenever we try opening the cells, a fucking self-destruct sequence activates. If you can break the link, seems like we might be able to open the cells.”

“Solid theory,” said Alex. He was already typing, voice a little faint. “I’ll see what I can do. Any other intel you’d care to share?”

Michael frowned, thinking. “My mom’s here.”

Alex didn’t yell, but Michael could tell he wanted to.

He turned and left for the cells before Valenti could ask him about it. He figured they could spare him a couple minutes with his family.

He hadn’t been to see mom in a few. It had been deliberate at first, trying to distance himself from the memory of the medical lab, and then he’d been too scared to see her again. To find out if she’d judge him this time around.

The cellblock seemed lighter, now that he wasn’t worried about a guard unit kicking the shit out of him. And mom was there, waiting by the glass, like she’d never left.

“Hi,” he said quietly. He didn’t know if he’d hear him, or even if she understood English. “I’m back.”

His phone buzzed as mom smiled at him.

[14:35] Alex 🤨: _grid’s down_

[14:35] Alex 🤨: _tell your mom i said hi_

Michael smiled at his phone, then he looked up and smiled as the glass door slid open. All the doors slid open, up and down the block.

Mom stepped forward first, and he hugged her as gently as he knew how. She was almost skeletal, bald and bruised from puncture wounds, and she was the most beautiful person in the world.

“Mom,” he said, feeling the tears starting to spill over. “Nice to see you.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest, murmuring something that pinged a long dormant part of Michael’s brain.

 _Son_ , she said, in a language he’d never heard before. _You are here_.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’m here.”

* * *

They hadn’t planned on a large scale evacuation that afternoon, but it seemed like it made sense to just — call in the cavalry. Rescue the whole lot.

Alex and Valenti had arrived a few minutes after the doors opened, time which Michael had mostly spent being prodded at by an array of people who he supposed must be relatives, or at least family friends.

Mom let him know, carefully and quietly, that no one would be dangerous unprovoked.

 _Accidents have happened_ , she said. _But they will not happen now_.

The others listened to her and nodded in solemn agreement. They seemed to turn to her for guidance, as if they were used to deferring to her authority. It was odd, to connect the new, hazy memories of his mom with the commander she seemed to have been once.

Alex was on the phone to Liz, apparently suggesting she steal a school bus if nothing else panned out. Valenti offered medical care, as gently as he knew how, and a few people took him up on it.

Michael sat with his mom.

Valenti came over after a few minutes. “Hey, can I ask your mom something?”

“You can try,” said Michael. He had one arm round her shoulders. “If you ask and she doesn’t answer, I can try and translate.”

He glanced at mom. She squeezed his hand between her frail fingers, and nodded.

“Alright,” said Valenti. “Well, some of the others keep telling me something, but I literally cannot even begin to make it out. As honoured as I am to be one of the first humans to hear an alien language, I mean.”

He made a weird gurgling sound, deep in his throat. It went on for a couple seconds.

Mom raised her eyebrows. _It is broken_ , she said. _That’s what they say. It is broken._

Michael frowned. That was… ominous. “What’s broken?”

 _The ship. I feel it too_ , she said. _You must fix it, next time. That is what it will do._

Michael froze. “You… no. _No_.”

She smiled and leaned against his shoulder. _Yes, son. Next time._

He didn’t remember the rest of the rescue.

Alex took charge of it, really. There was a gap in his memory, between the cellblock and the truck, and another one between the truck and Isobel’s house.

Turning up with a few dozen elderly aliens while Isobel was dealing with her psycho alien husband was perhaps not the best idea, but then, was anything?

“Hey, Iz,” said Michael. He felt tired, more than anything. “It’s all gonna happen again. Don’t worry about it.”

Noah was still in the goddamn chair, sweaty and dishevelled. He was smiling at the chaos, right up until he wasn’t.

 _Naivah?_ Mom pushed her way through the crowd towards the chair. _You have been free?_

 _Inquisitor,_ said Noah, chin tipped up. _I have._

Mom didn’t flinch. Her expression stayed just as serene as she stepped forward and put one hand on Noah’s knee.

 _You have broken our pact,_ she said. _And for that, you know the price._

Noah shrank back against the chair.

Michael turned and left the room, pulling Alex with him. He didn’t want to watch, when he’d just have to do it again tomorrow.

He sat down on the stairs and looked at his knees. His jeans were a goddamn mess.

Alex sat next to him, carefully silent.

“I don’t get it,” said Michael, eventually. “We did everything right. Now I gotta get us all to do it again?”

“I’m sorry,” said Alex. “I really can’t understand how you’re feeling. But I understand failing, even when you’ve done everything you can.”

Michael shrugged. “It fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, laughing. “It really fucking does.” He paused, swaying his knee into Michael’s. “Where do you think this ship might be?”

Fuck, right. There was a stupid mystery to solve.

“No idea,” he said. “Probably in Caulfield somewhere, right? Otherwise how would it get broken _now_?”

He figured, now he had the time to think about it, that something must have broken that first day, when the self-destruct activated. And if said something was a fucking time machine, as the ex-prisoners were suggesting, it was possible it being broken could cause some kind of… localised disruption.

Michael’s specialism was astrophysics, not quantum mechanics. Just reading about it gave him a headache, while apparently his people had built a machine that could cause time loops _by accident._

Space was a real trip.

“Makes sense,” said Alex. “We can be more systematic about it, now. Just… keep bringing me up to speed. If you want.”

He looked unsure, all of a sudden.

“Who else would I tell?” Michael asked, suddenly furious. “You’re the guy who said you trusted me, Alex, how the hell do you not know I feel the same way?”

Alex blinked. “I know how you feel, Guerin. You made it pretty clear.”

“So did you!” Michael scrubbed a hand through his hair, off-balance. “Just friends, right? And you can’t even trust that I want _that_?”

“Who said I just wanted to be friends?”

Alex looked genuinely confused. Michael felt pretty much the same way.

“Uh, you did,” said Michael, reasonably. His anger had burnt out almost as quickly as it arrived. He was still just tired, underneath it all.

Alex paused. “I can see where you got that from what I said, but… it’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then? Enlighten me, private.”

Alex smiled reflexively. “Still not a private, Guerin.” He took a breath. “I meant it as a starting point, alright? We’ve never really been friends, and… I’ve never really had a. A serious relationship, I guess. Those are meant to start as friends, right?”

“Not always,” Michael said, numbly. “I think maybe our one didn’t.”

“Is it really a relationship when you sleep with other people?” Alex said.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Alex, is it?”

They sat for a moment. Michael watched Alex’s face, half in shadow.

“Sorry,” Alex replied. “It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. But now you know what I meant, so —”

Michael kissed him. It wasn’t a lot like the last time they’d kissed, desperate and messy, or like the first when Michael had felt a little bit like he was kissing the idea of Alex more than the boy himself. This time it was a familiar feeling, the skip in his heartbeat as Alex relaxed against Michael’s mouth, lips parting gently. He pressed closer, his good hand resting over Alex’s heart, feeling the heartbeat through his palm.

Alex cupped his elbow in his free hand, the other one still on Michael’s knee, and pulled back.

“And what,” he said, annoyingly unruffled, “Was that?”

“A starting point,” said Michael. He liked being a bastard. It gave him an excuse to say things like that.

Alex laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael. Tell me all about this when you do, alright?”

“It’s a date,” said Michael.

**thirteen**

“Is this some kind of Fifty First Dates thing?” Alex asked, after the kiss. “Because if it is, you should know that movie is the worst.”

“No,” said Michael. “It’s some kind of Groundhog Day thing. Get with the program.”

**fifteen**

“I found something!” Valenti held up a hand from behind a bank of filing cabinets.

Michael sat up so quickly he banged his head on the shelf above him. “Shit, what is it?”

Valenti huffed. “I can’t tell — you’re the alien, right?”

“You’re not dying from alien artifact poisoning again,” said Alex. “Give it to Guerin and get out of the way.”

Michael had filled them in on a couple of the greatest hits, this time. They’d been more horrified than amused.

He had a feeling someone was going to have to invent a new kind of therapy, just for him. Double therapy. _Triple_ therapy.

**eighteen**

Michael spotted the familiar shimmer from across the storage room.

They’d been working systematically, as Alex would say, over the past few loops, eliminating the prison room by room and floor by floor in their search for the artifact which then, hopefully, Michael could fix.

This room, on the top floor of the left wing, was clearly long abandoned. There was a pinup calendar from ‘65 on the notice board, still open to July and marked off until the 23rd.

“I can see something,” said Michael, into his phone. Alex had set up a wifi hotspot and a voice chat for the search party. They could split up, but they never went that far. Michael had a feeling Kyle had been thinking of Scooby Doo when he suggested it.

He fought his way through a sea of crumbling packing crates towards a shelving unit on the far wall. On the third shelf up, between a joystick and an ancient bag of chips, was a fragment of Michael’s console.

Or, well, something like it. He pulled it out, gently, and cradled it in his hands.

It was only the size of his palm, charred at the edges and with symbols that shifted even as he watched.

“I think this might be it,” he said, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Or… part of it.”

**nineteen**

It was obvious, after that, that they were looking for a kind of spaceship engine jigsaw.

The next time, they found three more pieces in nearby rooms.

“It must have fractured that first time,” Alex suggested. “And stayed wherever it landed, when the timeline reset.” He glanced around the storage room. “Could be fucking anywhere.”

The time after that, high on success, Michael forgot about Flint.

He only remembered when he turned in the stairwell and, below them, he heard Alex’s crutch stop tapping.

The gunshot echoed up towards him. Alex arrived a few minutes later, face blank.

They didn’t find all the pieces. Michael spotted one on their way down to the cellblock, and kept his mouth shut.

**twenty-one**

Mom helped.

They found all the pieces and laid them out on the medical table in the cellblock, just in time for the doors to release.

 _Still broken_ , she said. _But close._ She laid a hand on one of the larger pieces, more blackened than the rest. _Needs healing._

“Max,” said Michael. It made sense, really. “We need Max. To fix it.”

Max, it turned out, was available. Isobel stayed to restrain Noah, and Liz stayed to help Isobel. Kyle drove back in Max’s truck, to lend some more support.

He frowned down at the pieces, when he arrived, and gave Michael a questioning look.

“What’s this all about?”

“Long story,” said Michael. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“That’s your job,” Alex said, helpfully.

Max gave them both a confused look, and closed his eyes. He let his hands hover over the pieces, fingers tense.

The larger pieces fused first, charred edges healing over like they’d never been apart. The smaller parts took a little more coaxing, Max’s forehead creasing as he pulled at the air above them.

Minutes felt like hours. Michael’s stomach hurt like he’d just swallowed glass.

“I think that’s it,” said Max, stepping back. He was pale and sweaty, but he didn’t throw up. It was an improvement from the last time Michael had watched Max heal.

“Here,” he said quietly, passing over a travel size bottle of acetone.

Max narrowed his eyes.

Michael threw his hands up. “Oh, sue me for caring.”

“Alright, honestly,” said Max. He chuckled, gulped down some acetone, and handed back the bottle. “Now, can we get back to dealing with… everything else?”

“Fucking _yes_ ,” said Michael. “That’s what this whole thing’s been _about_!”

* * *

Mom brought judgement on Noah again, or whatever it had been.

 _Naivah,_ she said, echoing his memory. She seemed taller, somehow, as the crowd parted. _Your crimes are compounded._

He didn’t watch. There was something wrong with the air.

This time he found his way out to the backyard and sat down on the grass, staring up at the stars.

After a while, mom came to join him.

 _It had to be done,_ she said. _I do not expect you to forgive me. Or to understand._

“I would’ve done it if you didn’t,” said Michael. “Or Isobel. Or Liz. Any of us, really.”

 _I took the choice away from you_ , she said. _It was necessary, but it was cruel, anyway._

“We’ve had worse,” he said quietly.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled his head to her shoulder. _Rest, son,_ she whispered. _Your work is only beginning._

The stars shone above them. Michael sighed out until his lungs emptied.

He closed his eyes.

It was a while before mom shook him awake, the stars even brighter in the sky. He watched as she re-entered the house, heading for the nest of sleeping bags and blankets Liz had set up in the front room.

Noah’s body was nowhere to be seen.

Michael stayed out in the backyard. He was tired, sure, but not the kind of tired that sleep would help.

He lay back in the grass and thought about death. It was pretty goth of him, he thought, in between the memories hitting.

The back door creaked open.

Michael stayed lying down. Anyone who made it through a house of angry, traumatised aliens without getting killed was probably fine.

“Hey,” said Alex, kneeling awkwardly beside him. “This seat taken?”

“Have at it,” said Michael, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Alex laid his crutch down next to him and pulled his legs to his chest. He was ready for bed, Michael could tell, a USAF shirt so worn it was barely legible and a pair of pyjama pants with one leg tied off just below the knee.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, nudging Alex with an elbow.

Alex shrugged. “I guess.” He glanced up at the sky. “You wanted to tell me something, this morning. Seemed like it was kinda important.”

Michael shrugged. He’d told Alex the last couple loops, but it hadn’t felt right this time. They’d been all systems go from the start, as soon as Michael woke up and called Alex with all the Caulfield info he could remember.

He’d known they might actually _do_ it today. He hadn’t wanted to risk anything.

Now it was hard to risk anything at all, knowing it would actually stick. It was hard to be brave when bravery mattered.

“We talked, the last couple of times through,” he said. “I thought I might make it a tradition, y’know. A habit.”

“Those are hard to break,” Alex pointed out. He smiled wryly. “Took me ages to kick smoking.”

“You were such a little rebel, holy shit,” said Michael, gleeful. “Knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Alex stiffened, just for a second.

Michael rolled one shoulder back, deliberately loose. “Or, y’know,” he continued, watching Alex’s face. “Love. Present tense.”

Alex’s mouth twitched. “You can’t just say shit like that, Guerin,” he said, low and clear. “Not if you’re not… serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious as hell,” said Michael. “What, I’m not allowed to have a deathbed revelation fifteen times in a row? Honestly, you think you know a guy.”

He wondered, idly, how long he’d be able to riff on the whole dying thing before the well ran dry. Alex, at least, liked that kind of humour more than most.

Alex looked at him for a moment, up and down, and smiled. “I guess you are.” He leaned back on his palms, digging his fingernails into the dirt. “If you want to talk about it, feel free. I’m a great listening ear.”

Michael huffed. “They tell you that in officer training?”

“Therapy. I got the doctor to talk more than I did.”

That was typical Alex. “I might take you up on that, sometime,” he said, eventually. “Not sure I can, uh, sort it out right now.”

Alex nodded. “Makes sense. You sure you should be making romcom confessions after twenty consecutive worst days of your life?”

“Why not?” Michael grinned. “No time like the present."

Alex rolled his eyes, and smiled. It was one Michael hadn’t seen often — one he’d seen a decade ago, just before everything went wrong. “Just to be clear, then — I love you too. Present tense.” The words cost him, Michael could see. The knowledge made his breath catch in his chest.

“Well, shit,” he said. “What are we ever gonna do about that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alex. He touched Michael’s neck, the spot that had once been nothing but glass and blood. “We’ve got time. We’ll think of something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many, _many_ thanks to Gin, who tolerates my DMs so well and who will follow me into almost any fandom hell I mention. 
> 
> Title from The Sciences Sing A Lullabye by Albert Goldbarth
> 
> Look, sometimes you just... write ten thousand words of Michael Guerin angst from his POV when you have basically never written Michael POV before? And you just decide to make up a bunch of Antar lore that doesn't even get included in the fic, just, idly thinking about an alien civilisation that has literally not been fleshed out at all in the show.
> 
> Really incredible scenes.
> 
> Handwaving science notes:  
> 1) Antar is presumably a very long way away and would require some kind of FTL travel or otherwise to get here in an even slightly reasonable timeframe  
> 2) Not everyone can have been in pods like just for my sanity and for this to work  
> 3) I therefore handwaved that the engine can create a localised timeloop, delaying aging while allowing time to progress outside the ship  
> 4) When it broke it fixated on the nearest living Antarian (Michael) who then DIED, resetting the loop at that time of night.  
> 5) Please don't think about this too hard
> 
> Canon notes:  
> 1) I did watch the episode to get the sequence of events, but only once, and not with my full attention. I have done my best to arrange the timeframes so they correlate but Max and Isobel spend an Indeterminate amount of time in a fucking cave so I'm just guessing they left before lunchtime. Even aliens have to eat.  
> 2) The loop reset on Michael's 'death', which in this case Max failed to heal. Luckily the timeline reverted so he won't have to live with the guilt! I figure getting stabbed in the neck would require slightly more specialised care than healing the wound up, considering the sheer amount of glass splinters that were presumably involved.  
> 3) Again, lots of Antar handwaving going on. I figure a psychic power like Mara's might well have been co-opted by a ruthless Antarian dystopia to work in the space police. I have not seen the 2000s Roswell or read the books.
> 
> Find me on twitter/tumblr @dotsayers, generally screaming and/or posting anecdotes from work. I used to watch TV and now I just livetweet my housemate doing it instead.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] layer on layer, down on down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342899) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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